


Standstill

by HeroInTraining



Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-19
Updated: 2018-06-19
Packaged: 2019-05-25 14:11:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14978843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeroInTraining/pseuds/HeroInTraining
Summary: Family is everything. Were it not, Pandora Shepard would not be the woman responsible for saving the galaxy. As she takes the next step towards becoming the commander, nothing rings true quite as powerfully as that.





	Standstill

**Author's Note:**

> Once again, thanks to the amazing Azzy for giving so many great writers and artists a home. Also a huge shoutout to dimancheetoile for producing the lovely artwork accompanying this story. Lastly, Standstill is a direct sequel to Runaway Time, from last year’s Big Bang.

In March of 2165 Kahlee accepted a job teaching at an Alliance-commissioned training academy. On April fifteenth, four days after Pandora’s birthday, she departed from the docking port. Three months later David found a vid message in his email from Kahlee, the title remorseful. Two hours later Pandora found him sitting at the kitchen table, staring at a laptop before him. It took one minute for Dora to realize there were tears in his eyes. Watching a parent cry, even if it’s an adopted parent, is a torment a child should never witness. Dora had seen her mother cry on several occasions. Each time she waited it out and made a point to be extra nice for the rest of the day. She drew a seat beside him and rested her head on his shoulder. David took no notice. She hit the play button on the screen to start the vid. Kahlee’s face filled the screen. She talked about her job for the first few minutes. She seemed to really enjoy it. Dora didn’t see what existed to bring a soldier to tears. 

“It looks like I’ll stay here full time,” Kahlee explained. “There’s no sense in paying for tickets home every weekend or holiday. Some of the kids have no home to return to. Someone needs to look after them and I volunteered. I’ve tried to keep this relationship going long distance. It’s just not working. I’m sorry, David. I can’t do this anymore. We’re done. Tell Pandora I’ll miss her, okay? I… Goodbye.” 

That explained it. From the speech Dora gathered she would never see Kahlee again. She closed the lid, blocking David’s view of his girlfriend’s dejected face. Tears finally fell, a sight most unusual on the strong, stoic man. She switched to a tight hug, not knowing what to say to lift his spirits. She settled for silent comfort. The words that followed came out of nowhere. “It’ll be okay. I love you, Daddy.” 

Her words shook David out of his stupor. It was only two simple sentences, but the meaning behind them meant so much more. Today was the first time Pandora acknowledged him as her father. He wasn’t sure if she wanted to allow two men to fill the role, even if one was post mortem, and he knew he could never compete with John. Her words showed the healing process had finally begun. A shame it took Kahlee leaving to evoke it, but it eased the pain a bit. He squeezed Dora tighter. “I love you too, Pandora.” 

“Is Kahlee gone for good?” 

“Yeah, Dora. She’s not coming back. She’ll stay at the school with those unfortunate enough not to have a home of their own. We’ll stay here. The apartment is mine now.” 

“That’s okay. I have you and you have me. We’re family.” She never could have guessed what meaning her words held to the older man. All she knew was it was the truth. If there was one thing Pandora would never abandon, it was her family. 

o8o 

“Pandora! We’re going to be late if you don’t come down right now!” 

“One moment, Mr. Vakarian.” She shouted down to David her remaining activities. Quickly she strapped on the one pair of dress shoes she owned and cinched the belt around her waist. Pandora physically changed drastically the past several years. It was the eve of her sixteenth birthday and her body showed it. She hit several major growth spurts early on leaving her standing at nearly six feet tall. Her hair was no longer in pigtails but in natural waves trailing to her shoulders. The color lightened from ethereal to shadowy midnight. Her eyes sparkled with newfound intelligence gleaned from pre-military academy. The shining violet seemed more world-weary yet more welcoming. Flattered by thick lashes, coated in layers of mascara, they flitted between the phone and the pile of jewelry from which to choose. She filled out her navy blue dress given as an early birthday present by David. Her white stockings sagged around her skinny waist. After all these years she still found it difficult to stomach food, especially ones reminding her of her lost family. Pandora selected rubies from the jewelry pile and a small purse. She was finally ready to leave. 

Pandora bounded down the stairs as she resumed her conversation with her best friend’s father. “Sorry. We’re running late to some awards ceremony. Dad’s not even in it, so I don’t know why I’m going. What was that about xenobiology class? Yes, I can help him out. He never admits he needs help, but judging his latest marks I understand your concerns. I gotta go. Tell Garrus I’ll talk to him tomorrow. Goodbye, Mr. Vakarian.” Before he could get more out of her Dora ended the call. She slumped against the seat’s cool leather in their hover car. 

David glanced over to the passenger seat every few seconds. An amused smirk crossed his face. “Who’s Gare-bear and why is he failing xenobiology?” 

Eyes snapping open, Dora glared at her father. Years ago, after the media forgot about Mindoir, David learned Nicole was in frequent friendly contact with a turian named Tiberius Vakarian. They met during the First Contact War and kept in touch. When Tiberius fathered a child and Nicole fell pregnant with the twins, she insisted the children meet to make friends. Clint and Victoria never hit it off with Solana. Pandora came around and several years later Garrus was born. She only met the youngest Vakarian through vid messages, but the two of them liked each other. David sought to revive the blooming friendship, to give Dora a sense of normalcy again. The two quickly became best friends. She was ecstatic when she was transferred to a military preparation school only to find Garrus standing beside her locker. She knew David found their relationship odd, but she also knew he respected her privacy. Therefore all primitive nicknames were kept secret. How David found out, she had no idea. 

“What? I’m home more than you think.” 

With a huff Dora returned her gaze to the stream of cars around them. “I was six,” she explained, her voice an irritated scratch. “Six and alone and confused and I don’t need to justify stupid nicknames.” The defiance simmered down to low-key annoyance. “We’re covering humanlike anatomy in xenbio. You know, humans, asari, drell, stuff like that. Garrus doesn’t get any of it. Stubborn fool won’t ask for help. I’m to help him over the weekend.” 

“Sounds familiar. Too stubborn to admit one needs more from friends than companionship? Unwilling to admit the man who stands alone falls alone? One seemingly unimportant class could in the future mean the difference between life and death?” 

Dora laughed. “I think you forget we’re in academy, Dad. Not the Council.” 

Light conversation ensued until the two were seated squarely in the middle of the audience. Some important fellow earned a promotion and all pertinent personnel were required to attend. Husbands and wives were allowed as plus-ones, so of course David invited his only family, even if she wasn’t by blood or marriage. Every so often Pandora whispered a humorous observation and he suppressed smiles. She made insufferable events more bearable. Still he shushed her. If anything vulgar were caught on camera he would be held accountable. She might not care, but one thoughtless comment was enough to end his career. Military advancement was a tricky thing. The ceremony carried on much longer than it ought to, filled to bursting with unnecessary speeches and lengthy toasts. Thank heavens there was no celebratory dinner afterwards. At long last the final speaker concluded his prose to hearty applause. Soldiers stood to stretch their legs and grouch about the time. Though it was by no means late, being stuck in a chair surrounded by disinterested compatriots tended to make one irritable. David physically had to restrain Pandora from bolting off. She took it worse than middle-aged men: bouncing, fidgeting, never staying still. Not a good appearance for a future cadet. Besides, she had to wait to return home if she wanted to experience her birthday surprise. 

Together they exited the building with all the proper fanfare. The sun sank beneath the rooftops, sending artificial golden rays through office windows. High trees bustled in the wind of the motorway. Keeper’s metallic ringing replicated traditional birds. All of it was old hat. Yet Pandora stared at everything like it was her first day on the Citadel. Over the years she learned to appreciate the little things. She moved past endless photographs to replace them with mysticism. David sped into the elevator of the apartment complex while she spoke politely with the security guard. The old salarian always treated her kindly and deserved some kindness in return. She smiled in goodbye to oblige her father’s wishes. They traveled the sixteen floors in silence. David placed his hand on the scanner to unlock the door. It clicked open. Inside was dark: every lamp off, the fireplace extinguished, decorative lights dimmed to nonexistence. Dora didn’t notice, just pushed the door closed behind her. When she turned around the lights flipped on to reveal all of her small circle of friends, their parents, and friends of the family. They stood near their hiding spots. On the kitchen island she glimpsed light from the candles in a cake and a stack of absurdly wrapped boxes on the stools. Which ones the aliens wrapped were obvious. The paper was haphazard and the English sloppily written. Immediately her mouth dropped to the floor. She’d never seen anything like it. 

“Happy birthday, kiddo.” David pulled her into a one-armed hug. “Happy sweet sixteen.” 

“What…what is all this? You’ve never gone this overboard before.” Dora returned the hug and moved to inspect the rest of the first floor. Each decoration earned intense scrutiny. Garrus trailed her to explain his participation. He only knew what Anderson told him of the Earth custom, but he could tell it meant the world to Pandora, and that was good enough for him. She fingered the trail of a dangling star, her fingers moving delicately across the finely woven strands. Drinking in the sight of the living room, she moved on to the kitchen. Colored lights cast blue and purple hues on the dancing flames of the candles. Already Mr. Hackett stood at the island cutting generous slices of cake. He passed the biggest to Dora. She took it with words of thanks and bounced from group to group, acting as a perfect host ingrained from the one class she couldn’t stand: military etiquette and manners. Jaunty music played in the background. Eventually Dora ended up in the same circle as David and his friends. She attached herself to his arm and waited for him to notice before speaking. “You never answered me earlier. I never had a party like this before. What’s so important about turning sixteen?” 

“Back on Earth it’s considered a rite of passage of sorts. Turning sixteen is the first step of entering adulthood. Once upon a time it was the age you could legally learn to drive and start a job. Learn what being an adult is like. Now it’s nothing more than fading human tradition. My father ensured I had one and here we are for yours. Are you enjoying it? If you say no it will break my heart.” 

“Why are you so freaking melodramatic, Dad? God.” Her laughter floated into the widespread beat of the catchy pop tune. It was exactly the kind of song Nicole used to enjoy; Pandora unknowingly inherited more than Nicole’s genes. Anything and everything her mother was into Dora found value in. Being that Nicole’s interests were incredibly old fashioned made tracking them down…interesting. “Don’t worry. I love it. You’re the best.” She pecked him on the cheek and returned to the dancing mess that was her friends. 

o8o 

The page turned to reveal formal pictures from the junior and senior proms. Dora had been asked by her boyfriend of the time and was promptly dumped upon declining an invitation to a drug-and-booze infamous afterparty. The next year Garrus acted as her escort to alleviate flying fists before they were raised. Your best friend taking you by the arm upon your entrance to the senior prom was seen as odd even by alien standards, but two intimidating future soldiers did wonders to stifle complaints. Garrus cleaned up well, for once in his life in a nice suit. He even traded clan markings for a rose on his lapel. Pandora was gorgeous as always (“Shut up Dad! I’m never gorgeous. Not even pretty”) in a dress far fancier and more expensive than she cared to admit. It was a dark blue, the color of the night sky, and so poofy she had to take extra care on the dance floor. The whole thing was dotted with silver stars so small to the eye they seemed like sparkles. Her hair was in an elegant updo, her blue and silver makeup spotless, and underneath it all silver pumps. She clutched Garrus’ arm tightly, the stretched skin of her knuckles the only sign of her fear. To think, the woman who would one day fell a Reaper was terrified of lowly opinions of those much less accomplished than her. 

“You know, I think Garrus was more scared than you. You should’ve seen his face when I answered the door. I swear his plates turned green.” 

“That might’ve been from your lecture. Did you really have to point out that gun from the war?” 

“Of course not. Nor did I have to get those promises from you. But I wanted to. As your father I can make sure your best friend treats you right and tell you to go get ready.” 

Taking her cue to leave, Pandora tossed her cereal bowl in the sink and left to prepare for her departure. Already piles of bags were stacked by the front door. More, only half finished, were in a heap in her bedroom. While excited for the day she started boot camp, Dora procrastinated preparing for it as long as possible. The future was a scary place no matter how many push ups she did at night. Adulthood loomed ever since she turned eighteen. It didn’t feel real until crawling out of bed that morning. Pandora took her first of many short showers and slid into presentable clothing. Their uniforms waited until the weak removed themselves. Photographs, omni tool, going away present from Garrus: the last to be stuffed into a duffel bag. Bags slung over one shoulder, Dora descended the stairs for the last time. The rest of her cargo was in the process of being crammed into the backseat of the hover car. With a wistful expression Dora looked over her shoulder at the apartment. Goodbye to home and life as she knew it. 

The goodbye was a painful one. Father and daughter held each other tight. Amidst thousands of similar families they did little to stop their tears. David had nothing but faith in Pandora, and Pandora had nothing but confidence in herself. She trained long and hard for this. Failing basic training meant failing her parents-her real parents. She liked to think John and Nicole would’ve been proud of their youngest daughter. Immediately her mind drifted to her siblings. What they’d look like, what they aspired to be, whether they’d join the military or apply to university. The thought forced more tears through her tear ducts. She squashed them down. A few to symbolize leaving home were all right. More stemming from her brother and sister long since dead pushed her limit of crying in public. At last they separated. David kept his hands on her shoulders. She smiled and said her final goodbyes. Dora hoisted her bags over her head and leaned in for a final peck on the cheek. Her lips lingered near his ear. 

“Thanks for the past twelve years, Dad. They’ve been great.” 

No words came in response, but none had to. One look at his face told her everything. A watery smile later Pandora was aboard the shuttle destined for Alliance boot camp. Candidates babbled about the upcoming training. None guessed how bad it really was. From day one the teens were worked far harder than they expected. Every day at least one kid dropped out. By the time they were allowed to pick a class to specialize in fewer than three quarters of the initial batch remained. Each class had its masters: Adepts, Soldiers, Engineers, Vanguards, and Sentinels. Of course Pandora chose the newest, the one with no masters of decades to teach them: Infiltrator. There were teachers, mostly Soldiers and a few Engineers. Most fared poorly with atypical instruction. True to her word Pandora trained her ass off. Each ranked list came back with her on top. Her progress incurred jealousy of many. She made few friends, but those she did stuck to her like glue. Something about Pandora Shepard drew others to her command. They listened; let her help with their choice of approach. They accepted her when they realized she was deadly with a sniper rifle. They never found out about the biotics. 

Turns out the child of a powerful biotic can’t escape with nothing. Both Nicole’s and Emily’s genes combined in just the right way to grant Pandora very limited biotic abilities. So limited they went undiscovered until thorough examinations took place. The genetic codes were deeply ingrained due to a combination of John’s extra normal blood and Nicole’s lack of proper care during pregnancy, but they were there. The diagnosis meant little to Dora but the world to her teachers. Biotics always went to their specific programs depending on their outlying talent. Never before had one enrolled in a different course. What made Dora care was this: her powers, too weak for an implant, were only activated by direct contact with the eezo in her veins. Through that she could theoretically harness some biotic abilities. The Alliance’s solution was to build a special set of armor with scanners and emergency plungers to harness the power. Her abilities meant nothing without the armor, but just the fact they existed practically made her teachers squeal with excitement. Pandora was a biotic and there was nothing she could do to change it. 

After that training took off. Content with exclusively being a sniper, Dora readily set up shop in the outskirts of every simulation. Her fellow students didn’t complain so long as she pegged every target crossing her scope. Her superiors wanted a stealthy assassin. One talent wasn’t enough when your squad lost their ability to perform. She was no assassin, that much was evident from the start. Cloaking was a power chosen by the suit designer meant for sneak attacks. For the same purpose she was given an updated military grade omni tool, equipped with “advanced stabbing” capabilities. It was much more personal when you could hear the victim’s last breath. It disturbed her immensely. One time in live training Dora spent her vast collection of rifles strapped to her back. All overheated due to an EMP blast. Everyone else was on the front lines doing their jobs. She made eye contact with the sniper in the sector opposite hers. They nodded in silent agreement. They packed up and climbed down to the battlefield. Several mercs were outside the firing range of the other Infiltrators, open to Pandora’s attack. That’s when it all went to hell. 

With ease Dora enabled Tactical Cloak. It held long enough for her to sneak behind the biggest mercenary and summon the blade. It sank easily into his flesh between two back plates. He died almost instantly. However, the moment Dora eased the blade out, he fell backwards, trapping her beneath his considerable body mass. Trapped under the body, with nowhere to run and nowhere to hide, Pandora could do nothing to prevent the oncoming panic attack. Memories, crystal clear despite their age, rushed in on a current. 

Lifeless eyes. Dead weight. Blood everywhere. Cold skin. No pulse. Pain. Fear. Absolute death. Her worst nightmare. Black and white. Vivid color. Screams. Gunshots. Biotics. Aliens. Home. Uncle Reehah. Terror. Confusion. Batarians. Hunger. Violation. Bullets. Freedom. Love. Love lost. Future- 

At that moment the body lifted off her and she felt her torso push out the armor. Her legs tickled with numbness. Her chest heaved. Her eyes flitted to the sun under her helmet’s thin visor. Sweat beaded her skin, soaking her under suit and dampening the ports. Her face grew hot as it met the cool air. Overhead a face materialized, speaking garbled words in concern. To Pandora it registered as the nameless batarian captain. She blinked heavily a few times to comprehend the image. Once it connected she scrambled backwards, boots kicking up a miniaturized dust storm. The dust felt all too similar to the layers of dirt coating the captain’s office. Unfiltered panic overtook her senses. Whoever the other guy was she had to get away. Her life depended on it. She squirmed back, anywhere but there acceptable. Her elbows scraped the ground, gaining acceleration the less she recognized the situation. The poor kid didn’t know what to do. He searched frantically for their teacher. Pandora interpreted it as the captain surveying the room for a weapon. In response she summoned her omni blade and held it diagonally to shield herself. Any defense was more than she had as a child. Slowly the world began to morph, the scorched earth looking less like the captain’s cabin and more like a training exercise. The captain himself took a more human form. She allowed herself to be led to the teacher several meters away. Still reality was shaky, converging between make believe and probable simulation. 

The rest of the Infiltrators were gathered around to hear their graded performances. Two missing students drew little attention at first. Only when Pandora’s sector came up did they notice. The area was picked clean of bodies along the outer edges, deadly precision not allowing a single unwanted person inside. While the outskirts were piled with bodies, the inner section lacked pileups of orange armor. Only one body was slumped in the middle. Secret assassinations were an essential part of this training exercise, and Pandora not at least attempting it did not bode well for her. The man in charge scanned the eager group of faces one last time. No dice. Then, off in the distance, he saw them: a man and a woman, the shorter seemingly guiding the taller. It had to be Shepard. But why was she tottering along, looking lost without the boy’s presence? Why did she have to be in physical contact with him at all times less she stop moving completely? Something was amiss. He pushed past the confused teens and ran to meet them halfway. The confusion on his face was palpable. 

“I don’t know what happened, sir,” her companion explained. “I saw her stab the guy and get trapped under his body. She didn’t move, just laid there awhile, and when I pulled him off she wasn’t all there.” 

All the while Dora stood off to the side, mumbling to herself about slave quarters but managing to look sheepish about it. The teacher interrupted a particularly disturbing whisper concerning human penetration. “Part of her’s here now. What is it, Shepard? What’s wrong?” 

Dora’s head shot up in a flash. “Nothing, sir. Just some uh…unwanted memories. No biggie.” In a hushed tone she added, “Something happened to Wyatt. Don’t know what, Uncle Reehah won’t tell…” 

“Nothing’s wrong my ass,” he muttered. He ushered his students to the group to finish the debriefing. It didn’t take long, and several moments later the herds were led to waiting shuttles. He kept a close eye on Pandora. She looked like she was lost in memory. She started prattling on about escape shuttles and a kindly Alliance soldier, not caring about the occasional glances from her squad mates. He nudged the other adult beside him, asking if he knew anything about the girl’s past. Nothing. Her friends knew just as little. Apparently Cadet Shepard didn’t reveal much to anybody except a single turian sent back to Palavan. Secrets coupled with strange behavior usually ended with illegal activities. Shepard did not seem the type to do drugs and her father was a very reputable commander, but good kids went bad before. How many sat before him in previous classes, spacers with military training from birth, and secretly snorted their drug of choice? He kept a close eye on Shepard as she disembarked and offered her guns for storage. There was no way to monitor her room, but he had a way around that. He rifled through her entrance file and tapped in the first number he found. If Shepard wasn’t going to admit a problem, then he knew someone who would. 

Pandora immediately retreated to her room. She knew stabbing the guy was a mistake. Now she sat alone on her metal hunk of a mattress, the three girls she shared a room with taking advantage of the floor showers. What scared her most was how she remembered it all like it was yesterday. Twelve years passed since Mindoir and she recalled with perfect clarity the feel of the hard cell floor. The stickiness of spilled blood. The emptiness of watching her family die one by one. The teacher thought she had a problem. Of course she had a problem. Didn’t everyone? Just that hers was a bit more…severe. There were regular traumas and then there were once-in-a-lifetime, so bad it doesn’t seem real traumas. Dora’s eclipsed the latter by light years. She lingered in the shower, in the halls, in the cafeteria. She was one of the last out. Her friends tried to cheer her up, figuring it was regular post-mission fatigue. Normally all it took were a few well-placed jabs and ill-mannered jokes. Not today. Left alone with her stony demeanor, Dora almost didn’t feel the hand on her shoulder pulling her aside. It was the school’s doctor. She cursed her luck. All this time Dora managed to keep her problems hidden from everyone, including her father and best friend. Soldiers were strong, Infiltrators stronger. Mental ineptitude made her weak. Her frustration and annoyance seeped into her words. “What do you want?” 

Taken aback by the hostility, the doctor removed her hand from the disgruntled girl’s body. “It’s okay,” she said in automatic response. “I’m not here with hostile intentions. I just want to talk to you in private. May I lead you to my office?” 

Reluctantly Dora agreed. She allowed the comforting hand to press lightly against her back, having shoved it from her shoulder. There was nothing intimate about touching her spine. The doctor was lucky she made contact with Pandora at all. Normally no one attempted anything except her father and occasionally Garrus. A forbidden touch was a big no-no for someone who survived what Dora did. With a puff of annoyance she parked herself in a folding seat opposite her teacher. She glared at the doctor. “You said we’d be alone.” 

“Now now, Miss Shepard. I’m the one who proposed this meeting.” The man stood behind his chair, like at any moment he expected company. “We’re worried about you, Shepard. I saw you earlier at the training mission. Are you doing anything, say…less than legal?” 

“Less than legal?” Pandora snorted. “You think I’m on drugs?” Her snort turned to all-out laughter, an ugly, mocking sound nothing like her usual chime. “I’ve had enough drugs for a lifetime, thank you very much.” 

The lady, whose nameplate identified her as Doctor Jones, rested her hands on a datapad. “I’ve read every word of your extensive file, Pandora. I know about Mindoir and the batarians. There’s a sizable gap after the attack-” 

“No one knows what happened on that ship. You don’t want to know.” By now her voice dropped to a murmur. Her eyes looked haunted, possessed with the ghosts of months of unthinkable horrors. Under the thin layer of black cloth goosebumps marked her flesh. Doctor Jones softly encouraged her to elaborate. The wench had no idea what can of worms she just opened. In response Dora crossed her arms to her chest and leaned back defiantly. 

“We can do this all day, missy. We were willing to overlook an incomplete file due to your abilities. We even let you get away with intentionally avoiding cloak kills. But this is where I draw the line. You tell us what’s wrong or-” His tirade was interrupted by a knock on the door. The figure outside was blocked from Pandora’s view, but the teacher’s newfound respectful tone gave it away. “Commander Anderson. Welcome. Please have a seat.” He gestured to the chair beside Pandora. “This meeting has already begun, sir. Cadet Shepard is being rather…stubborn.” 

Instead of sitting David opened his arms for a long, tight hug. It’d been months since their last face-to-face meeting. “I’ve missed you. Vids and emails don’t capture the real you.” Her thick hair muffled his words. Pulling away so he could place his hands on her shoulders, David continued, “Come on, Dora. What’s this about not behaving for your superiors?” She explained the situation, getting rather passionate about their lack of boundaries. “You knew one day someone would question your file. It’s rather conspicuous.” 

“But you know!” she cried. “That’s more than enough! Those therapists didn’t work, Garrus’ sister didn’t work, nothing will work. These guys are just like everyone else. They won’t get it.” 

“No one will truly understand your experience, Dora. With any luck no child will go through what you did. Despite that you have to tell them. They have a right to know and besides, what’s wrong with explaining why you want to be an Infiltrator?” 

If she got anything out of the conversation Dora knew when she was beat. She may put up a fight against authoritative figures, but her father? Years of experience taught her there was no winning when the opposition was crafted military patience. Best to give in before things got too heated. “They’re going to kick me out for this. But fine. There’s a gap after the attack because the slave traders took prisoners. The Alliance didn’t find us until months later. I still don’t know how much time passed. It felt like centuries. Nothing to do but stare at the walls and wait. Wait for the captain to drag me to his bedroom and…do things.” She shuddered. The memories were too horrid to share with anyone, even a doctor. David gave a nod of encouragement. “At the time I didn’t know what it was or why it was so bad. Reehah ignored my questions, tried to keep me safe and happy in the dark. The only other woman was across the hall. She didn’t want anything to do with me and besides, talking with other inmates always ended in a beating. All I wanted was Mommy taking me away from the pain to Aunt Emily’s place, to the mines, her squad room, anywhere but there. Anywhere but strapped to that bed…” 

“What did they do to you, Pandora?” Doctor Jones asked softly. 

“The guards gave regular beatings for minor misdemeanors. Reehah protected us the best he could, and I tried to do the same with Wyatt, but we couldn’t avoid everything. Sometimes I can still taste hot lead… They really liked torturing Wyatt. With all they did it’s a wonder he survived as long as he did. Withholding food, letting him cry alone for hours…I don’t think they knew what to do with a baby. The captain, he…he treated human women as trophies. I was the youngest one there. That didn’t stop them. He called me his favorite. He said I was special. One time he let his senior officers get in line to have ‘alone time’ with each of the women. I was last. Fucking me was the prize. I was ‘pure.’ I…nothing felt right after that. Lying in bed at night, I can still feel their hands up my skirt, how I convinced myself it felt good when they said I was ungrateful. It felt good, it hurt, I was so powerless to stop it, I had to sit there and take it like a man…” Hot tears dripped down her cheeks like poison from a syringe. This was the first time she told those memories in full to anyone. David heard bits and pieces after nightmares, but it took her almost thirteen years to find the courage to say them. 

David encased her in a wall of protection. The teacher and Doctor Jones shared a look. That was easily the most screwed up story either had heard in a long, long time. It didn’t excuse what she did, but it explained Pandora’s erratic behavior. She endured so much only to keep it bottled up for over a decade. She should’ve seen a therapist ages ago. She should’ve seen a therapist back on Mindoir for the biotics. Hell, judging the file’s stories, even her idolized mother needed a professional after the First Contact War. The whole family needed serious help. Jones let them take a moment before clearing her throat. She described a course of action for the future. After boot camp Pandora would meet with a psychologist on the Citadel until she was deployed. Following that they would play it by year. If Pandora wanted to be a Marine, so be it. Dealing with underlying mental issues was her prerogative. However she chose to deal with it, the problem was out in the open. No more running from your past. 

o8o 

With the way the Alliance determined deployment rates the best of the new recruits saw action first. Being the top of her Infiltrator class meant Pandora spent hardly a year at home before she received notification that her skills were needed. A team of accomplished Soldiers had a job opening and Soldier being one of her subclasses meant she fit right in. For the first time she packed her bags, shouldered her uniform, kissed David goodbye, and left with the heavy thought that she might not make it out alive. The thought scared her. Once upon a time she dreamt of dying and rejoining her family. There were still times she considered it. But then she thought of all the people who would die if she weren’t there to save them. That kept her going. That and the pills stored safely in a duffel. 

Driving kept her mind off melancholy feelings. While waiting to be processed nothing existed to keep the thoughts at bay. She wondered if the doctor onboard would accept a mentally ill twenty-year-old serving on a ship for the first time. Granted, the ship was designed for transporting soldiers between battle zones so there wouldn’t be much time on board, but she was young and nervous. She wondered if her new teammates would treat her differently after they found out. Depression was a fickle thing. Even in 2177 people didn’t understand mental illnesses. Two at the same time? Unthinkable. Though her depression was a byproduct of PTSD, Pandora refused treatment for the root. One was more than enough to deal with; one alone made her weak. Not according to her friends and family but to herself. Nothing should impede her ability to pull the trigger. The scope distanced her. Tactical Cloak did not. Every time she willed it into action she swallowed anything dangerous and focused on the monster whose life needed ending. Older Marines said compartmentalization was crucial to completion of the job. Already Dora found that particular skill increasing. Probably not a good thing. 

Initial screening went well. So did processing. So did formal and informal introductions with the rest of her new team. There were ten of them total and five teams in all. Pandora was one of many, but she was the only Infiltrator on board and best with a sniper rifle. No one else had her specific skill set. A Soldier and two Vanguards were present, keeping the immediate attention off her biotics. Yet on downtime they delighted in training her. She taught them the basics of sniping. Learning from each other was far more enjoyable than the instructors they studied their craft from. Sure, numerous rooms and Alliance property were destroyed. The crew was terrified of random skewering biotics. But the team was happy. Onboard they sparred, laughed, and threw food at each other. Off ship they joked, played, and above all, got the job done. Go in quick and come out quicker, than was their motto. It served them well. Missions passed without incident thanks to that motto, and Pandora lived it. Until a few months later when she adopted a new code, it kept her team together. 

Successful mission after successful mission made them cocky. They thought they were invincible. When the captain gathered them to explain they would join forty other men and women on Akuze to investigate a potential terrorist threat, they joked and laughed their way through debriefing. Pandora giggled through her pre-mission preparations. It had been so long since she thought of depression as a problem thanks to her brethren. She intended to keep it that way. Her father viewed cockiness as a sin, but she couldn’t help it. Good Infiltrators were hard to come by these days. Dora relished in it. She wanted so badly to test her skills against an enemy as great as terrorists. Youthful enthusiasm overpowered common sense. One by one the pieces of her intricate armor slid on. Powerful sniper rifles and agile pistols connected to magnetic fields holding them in place. Her omni tool ran debugging software for the umpteenth time. Engineers and Soldiers did the same. Adepts, Sentinels, and Vanguards warmed up their amps. Blue flashed off the cool metal walls. The joking died down some as the door opened and they jogged off the ship. 

A brisk jog away the fifty soldiers convened to discuss the threat. Despite finally meeting others of their specialty they stuck to their original teams. Most shied away from humor of all kinds. Dora’s team was the only one that goofed off as much as they did. Briggs, the highest-ranking officer with them, automatically took control. He organized them by types and specialties, then by experience. For all intents and purposes the squad was weak. Individually they were powerful, accurate, deadly. Within their original teams they were less accurate but even deadlier. But amongst new allies and unfamiliar fighting styles? They might as well be cadets again. Just splitting up for five minutes brought bickering over who should lead. Dora hid in the back, happy to follow whoever stepped up so long as they were worthy. No one moved. Ten meters passed. Still no decision. Another ten meters. That’s when Pandora gave up. 

She picked up the pace to surpass the others. If no one else would do it might as well be her. To empathize her point she drew a mobile sniper rifle from her leg. Immediately the bickering deflated to zero. There were no questions, no accusations. Let’s see what the newbie can do. They crossed a particularly large sand dune to find a sprawling base. Unfamiliar logos decorated walls and crates. No one was outside due to the blistering heat, but security guards in high-tech armor stood inside alcoves. Periodic rumblings shook the ground. Before they wandered into the bowl Dora raised her hand to signal her squad to stop. 

“What is that?” a twenty-something Vanguard asked. “Is that some kind of merc group?” 

“Not everything is a merc group, dumbass,” a nearby soldier chided. “Must be galactic terrorists or something. Why else would the Alliance send this many people?” 

“Shut it.” Pandora’s sharp tone silenced the air. Her eye was glued to the scope of her rifle, fixated on the enclosure opposite them. Another blast erupted beneath their feet. Particles of sand floated into the air. “There’s a guard at every entrance. I’m guessing inside there are only eggheads. I want biotics poised to rush in once the guards are taken out. Engineers, have Combat and Defensive Drones on my tail. Soldiers are my backup. If they see me you come in. Roll out.” No one second-guessed her. They moved into position, Dora sliding down the mountain out of sight. The minute she activated Tactical Cloak drones appeared around her, invisible in the bright sun. One by one she took down guards, the Soldiers unneeded until the very end. According to plan the biotics rushed the doors while the rest secured communications. Pandora wandered from her spot behind a satellite to investigate a flashing red DANGER! sign. Over her now on comm she heard a barrage of curses. Before she could ask a seeming earthquake rocked the building’s sturdy foundation. High-pitched squeals rang through metal. “What the hell did you do?” she whispered. 

All was silent for a moment. Breaths heavy with anticipation echoed off the walls. The first to break the silence was Briggs, whose message was simple. “RUN!” 

There was no questioning the sheer panic in his voice. They hurried out front, where their comrades stampeded past. Off in the distance a long, narrow lump of sand slid just beneath the surface. Dora trailed behind, her fastest not fast enough in her clunky armor. The lump caught up fast. She glanced over her shoulder to see its head emerge: large, ugly, poison in bloom. A creature so terrifying it was rarely brought up in school. Its mouth opened in another shriek, forcing the soldiers to press their hands to their helmets for all the good it did. Slowly the group approached the drop zone. No ship waited for them. The sand blew around in the open air. They didn’t stop, didn’t pause for breath, just kept running until the buildings were buried under the pursuit. When Pandora thought the coast was clear she stopped, wheezing in the hot arid air. Soon enough the others caught on and collapsed in loose circles on the ground. Briggs glanced at Pandora a few times. She held his gaze with an explanatory glare. 

“Where are the damn ships?” he said to break the awkward silence . Heavy breathing did little to ease the tension. “All those with access codes tried comming them. No dice around the table.” 

“That thing must’ve jammed the systems. Our comms barely survived,” someone chimed in. 

“Or they stranded us here,” a particularly dire member added. 

A chorus of mumbled agreements and explanations erupted. Everyone had their own theory. Briggs, Pandora, and the three other leaders scotched to their own circle, combining logic and their tech skills to find a way to reach the mother ship. Every attempt ended in at best garbled voices and at worst a faint static. Done with no results Pandora let out a frustrated cry. It had been at least twenty minutes since the maw left and nothing came of it. She was hot, tired, drenched in sweat, and beginning to feel the first of deep hunger pangs. That morning she didn’t feel the need to eat her extra rations, not expecting this mission to last this long or be this strenuous. She needed to get back, preferably before she was due for her next pill. Grouchy, irritable, provocative Shepard needed to stay as far from emotional, altruistic, mostly under control Pandora as possible. With nothing to show from their time alone they returned to the group. At a loss for what to do next, the vote decided to return to the buildings. At the very least they provided shade. That would be their last mistake. 

By that time everyone began to feel the effects of the blistering desert sun. Fights broke out over whose turn it was to remove their helmet, leaving the rest to utilize the mapping system. Biotics split their food amongst themselves, angering the rest. Certain parties questioned Brigg’s leadership skills. Others thought it fine to point out Lieutenant Shepard’s first time in command didn’t bode well. Perhaps it was her Infiltrator background. Or her father’s position, securing her a rank higher than her ability level. Or those pills she tried to pop secretly. Or, even, her past on Mindoir. She shut them up pretty quick after that. No one, absolutely no one, mentioned her past. Especially in a personal jab against her. In the blink of an eye she turned fiercer than an enraged politician. Then she was back to a placid peacekeeper. Soon enough the buildings appeared on the horizon. They stopped for a brief break and to quickly discuss their options. It was then the rumbling started. 

It started off very faint, barely registering on their bodies and weakening scanners. Gradually it got deeper, more powerful, like a fault line resided below their feet. Not wanting to risk the buildings collapsing, Briggs ordered them to take refuge in the alcoves. Before everyone made it the same creature as before burst from the ground in a sandy eruption. An inhuman shriek blended with the terrified screeches of the soldiers. They never learned how to combat thresher maws, how to deal with a threat as big and unknown as a terrorist organization’s experiments. The maw slammed onto the building, capturing several unlucky soldiers in its wake. Total chaos followed. 

Bullets bounced harmlessly off its skin. Biotics did little to slow it down. Impressive technology was as useful as throwing a rock at an elephant. Physical attacks were met with immediate death. In minutes fifty shrank to two dozen. Then one dozen. Then under ten. Pandora stood with her back pressed to the farthest building, panting in fear. All she could think was that Incinerate didn’t work, modded bullets didn’t work, Overload certainly didn’t work, and the only reason she was still alive was because she had Tactical Cloak activated. It wouldn’t last forever, however; she could feel her hold slipping. She was tired, hungry, and not nearly as powerful as the other dead biotics. Pure luck carried her this far and it was about to run out. A scream higher than the rumbling silence filled her comm. Another one gone. Her breathing picked up. The maw felt closer. She dared peek around the corner to see the last of her teammates suffer acid to the face. Their bodies were unrecognizable under the damage. Dora was the last one. She took a deep breath to steady herself, accepting her fate the best she could. Only a miracle could save her now. 

Buzzing crackles filled her helmet. Either she didn’t hear its start because of the blood pumping in her ears or the static started recently. Garbled voices broke through. Should she ignore it to ensure her invisibility? Or should she answer the call and risk her life? Fuck it, she reasoned. I’m dead anyway. She checked one more time, then tapped the side of her helmet. “Base, do you copy?” 

The static wasn’t as prominent when voices echoed through the connection. “This is base. What’s going on down there? Where is everyone?” 

“This is Lieutenant Shepard from Gamma. There’s a…a thresher maw here.” Her voice hitched. Her Cloak flickered. The rumbling started again. She flinched as the last soldier beside her was eaten. “Everyone is dead. I’m the last. My Cloak is slipping, I don’t know what to do, oh God it’s here…” Coherent words trailed off into a jumbled mess as the last of her rationality left her. 

“Stay put, Shepard. Extraction will arrive in T-minus thirty seconds.” 

The building behind Pandora collapsed, exposing her back to the harsh sunlight. She slowly turned her head over her shoulder to watch the maw’s jaw close around her chest. “Not an option!” she screamed, unloading dozens of bullets into its throat. They did no good. As her every mean of defense failed her Dora lost herself to the pain and panic. Sharp bones dug through her armor and under suit, allowing acid to burn away her skin. Her screams died as her once chance of rescue entered Akuze’s atmosphere, opening fire to save the only person they could. 

The maw put up an admirable fight. It tossed the limp body at the windshield of the ship in an attempt to deter it, then enacted a full-on frontal assault. The ship dipped and dived until the creature was dead. Now safe to land, a team of nonessential crew disembarked to collect the bodies. Most didn’t have a pulse. Some had one but it faded fast. No chance of survival. There was only one body with a pulse strong enough to consider living. It came from a battered set of dusty plates the color of the ground burned with acid. The helmet’s see-through visor was painted red with blood and yellow with toxins. Upon its removal back on the ship the doctor found a face eaten away, little more than charred skin and bone. Armor scans revealed inner bone penetration, infection, severe blood loss, and a bad combination of dehydration and malnutrition. It truly was a wonder she survived the jaws of a hellion. With no way to cure her injuries on their own, the worst were stabilized and priority transport to the Citadel organized. Any other survivors died on their way there. Upon arrival the best doctor on site rushed the gurney to emergency surgery and set to work building a life from nothing. 

It took a full sixteen hours of surgery to completely fix Pandora’s body. She didn’t wake up for another week. According to the team assigned to her it could be simple shock, gratuitous wounds, or as complex as a sudden loss of valuable eezo. No one knew for sure. David was paged as per protocol, but given his position in a system on the other side of the galaxy, was unable to attend. Against his will his only daughter was left alone in Huerta Memorial Hospital. 

On the one week anniversary of her arrival Dora felt her drug-induced dreams slip away to her senses. Taste returned first in a torrent of salty dryness. She tried to wet her teeth, to move her tongue and clamp her jaw, but they wouldn’t obey her. Touch followed. Thick bandages surrounded her chest, compressing her ribcage and highlighting how difficult it was to breathe. Her lungs were on fire. It felt as though she swallowed poison. Her lips felt dried and cracked. Splints held her legs in place, dangling from cords attached to the ceiling. Her arms were loosely tied to the thin mattress beneath her. Sterile sprays and foul antiseptics. Gentle clanging from across the room. The steady drip of an IV. Bright light penetrating her eyelids. Artificial fluids flowing through her veins. Fighting against every fiber of her being, Dora opened her eyes. 

It took a few moments, but eventually the doctor glanced up from her tablet. She appeared no more than middle aged, despite the silver hair framing her face, but she carried herself with the air of decades of experience. “You’re finally awake.” It wasn’t a question or a statement, just a fact. “Hello, Miss Shepard. I’m Doctor Chakwas and I performed the surgery that saved your life.” She seemed to understand higher body functions were beyond Pandora’s capabilities. “I’ll give you some time to wake up. It’s been a week, you know. Not including your trip here.” 

Dora tracked the woman’s exit with her red-rimmed eyes. She may have slept for over a week but she was still so tired. She closed her eyes to wait for her body to adjust to the medicine. Over a week. Without warning her eyes shot open. Surely her father was informed. Who was next on her emergency contact list? The Vakarians? Oh God, did Garrus even know what happened? Did David? She didn’t even know what happened herself. All she remembered was paging a ship, explaining everyone else was dead. Then…then… She was trapped in its jaws. She felt the teeth penetrate her ribcage. Acid scarred straight through her helmet. A thresher maw caused more physical damage than all her time spent aboard the batarian pirate ship. Panic set in despite the strong sedatives telling her not to. Dora couldn’t help it. She wanted-no, needed-out. Hospitals were the one thing worse than nightmares. She was always alone, always surrounded by death and dying. At least with nightmares she subconsciously knew she would wake up. Mustering all her strength, Pandora pushed herself to her elbows and promptly slid out of bed. The mattress was a lot slipperier than she anticipated. Her head hit the bedside table, evicting a sharp cry. The support cords kept the rest of her in place. 

Someone must’ve heard the commotion. Two nurses rushed in to right their unruly patient. Chakwas followed. Disapprovingly she stared at Pandora, noting how quickly she switched from limp to feisty. The poor girl could barely move and she already wanted out. Most patients waited until they could walk under their own power before demanding leave. Why, Pandora hadn’t even realized the true extent of Akuze’s wrath yet. She was settled in bed, reluctantly without straps for fear of harming her further. The doctor got comfy in a chair at her bedside. “What was that about? Normally my patients last the day before tiring of med bay.” 

Shyly Dora’s eyes flitted to the kindly doctor’s warm face. When she determined the woman wasn’t a threat she turned her head fully. The only person who understood her fear of all things medical was her father and he was nowhere to be seen. Speaking of which, where was David? He always stood at her bedside or called when he physically couldn’t. She needed David, not some doctor pretending to be nice. Dora tugged loosely against her dissolved barriers, wanting nothing more than to move under her own power. Alas all her energy was zapped during her previous escape attempt. Could she even talk? She didn’t remember her throat bearing the brunt of the creature’s teeth. Settling for establishing her scenery, she asked, “Where am I?” 

“You are in Huerta Memorial Hospital on the Citadel, Miss Shepard.” Chakwas spoke slowly and clearly, like she wasn’t sure of Pandora’s mental state. She answered the girl’s squinted eyes. “From what I’ve been told you were found by your ship shortly after the thresher maw found you. The timing could not be better but the damage was still substantial. I happened to be the only doctor on hand with direct combat medical experience.” 

A fresh wave of panic rose at the words thresher maw. Exhaustion may be dominant, but a new primal fear had been installed in Dora’s psyche. Maws were a lot fresher than pirates. Her pupils expanded, nearly drowning the irises in inky blackness. She stared blankly at the far wall. “I should have died.” Her voice cracked horribly around the words, crackling with misuse. Somehow she felt every day she was out. 

Chakwas sighed. Survivor’s guilt was a common thing amongst soldiers in the girl’s boat. Normally it didn’t manifest so quickly, but at least it proved she didn’t have memory issues. “You’re lucky to be alive. However, that doesn’t mean your survival isn’t exclusively contributed to the fates. Staying invisible saved your life as much as pure luck. There is a reason why you’re still alive.” 

For all she cared Chakwas could have recited a textbook. Forty-nine good men and women died on Akuze. They would receive accolades and their funerals would boast of their role in the fall of a branch of a terrorist organization. All that was fine. None of it brought her comrades back. The nine she shared her ship with were gone forever. Nothing could change that. They were dead and she was alive when she should be dead. All because of a stupid power she never wanted in the first place that allowed her to clock out of the battle. She owed her life to whoever decided upon Tactical Cloak as a viable power. She trained with it against her will and lived to tell the tale. Dora wanted to cry. She never cried. Crying reminded her she had depression. But now she didn’t care. Tears dripped from her eyes and she couldn’t even wipe them away. They pooled on her cheeks, flooding down to her gaunt collarbone. 

Taking pity on the poor girl, Chakwas dabbed at the tracks with her sleeve. She treated hardened soldiers mostly; children were a rarity. Shepard was barely more than a child. “Before I go,” Chakwas said, standing, “I have a little surprise for you.” She turned on the television across the room. “A vid call from a Mr. Garrus Vakarian, I believe.” 

At that the doctor left, leaving Pandora to stare at the screen in disbelief. In a moment a young, flustered turian appeared. “Garrus? Is that really you?” The words came out in a near whisper. It had been months since her last face-to-face contact with her best friend. Garrus aged so much in his short time at boot camp. She almost didn’t recognize him as the same person. It was almost as if it beat the baby out of him. 

“Who else would it be? Should I be worried about any other turians?” 

Her lips turned up in a light smile. “It’s been so long. I missed you.” 

“Believe me, I wanted to call. I have all your emails saved too. I just may have lost my communications privileges after insulting my superiors.” 

“Oh, Garrus. You need to learn to watch your mouth. But I could’ve been more forthcoming. Could’ve tried harder.” 

“Not everything is your fault, you know. So what’s going on with you? The area code sounds like Huerta.” 

What followed was a total breakdown. Barely keeping it together as it was, his question drew tears from Dora’s eyes. With no one to dry them they hugged her skin. Through the pain she explained it all from start to finish. Every so often she paused to collect herself, but each addition destroyed her progress. Garrus waited patiently at each pause. For that Dora was grateful. They lacked contact for weeks yet he remained thoughtful and considerate. It took a long, long while, but eventually she finished her tale. By now her system was flushed clean of liquids. Her throat felt raw, her eyes puffy and itchy. She refused to summon a nurse over something as insignificant as a glass of water. Wearily she met Garrus’ eyes, almost communicating an apology over her outburst. 

All Garrus could say was, “Damn.” No amount of boot camp could prepare him for that story. Coming from his best friend of all people. That was the kind of story you heard on the news and felt brief sympathy for the victims, nothing more. Fifty dead soldiers meant nothing in the grand scheme of things. But to live it? To survive through sheer dumb luck and wake up to the knowledge? It was unfathomable to him. But as he sat in a comfortable chair safe on Palavan his best friend lay in a hospital bed sustained by a bunch of tubes. “Well, uh, I’m really sorry, Dora. I’m sure Mr. A will come soon and I’ll call as much as I can. Just don’t cry, okay? You are downright hideous when you cry.” 

Dora hiccupped through a heaving sigh. Garrus had an astonishing ability to lift her spirits. That was one of the many reasons why she loved him. His playful jab came out of nowhere, but it did the trick. She quieted down. “You look even more hideous trying to smile.” 

“You’re lucky you’re crippled. Otherwise I’d come over there to beat your ass.” 

Their conversation only carried on a bit longer. The bout of crying tuckered Dora out, already causing yawns at an increasing frequency. Garrus ended the call with a joke and a heartfelt goodbye. Dr. Chakwas reentered to close the screen and situate her for sleep. The lights were shut off, the curtains shut, the nurses shooed away. Sleep was the next best thing to morphine to heal her. Dora tossed and turned as much as she could in her restraints. Every time she shut her eyes she saw the maw looming over her, its teeth seconds away from penetrating her rib cage. It taunted her, flashed every weapon in its arsenal, threw the bodies of her friends at her. Worst of all, every time she closed her eyes Dora lost the ability to turn invisible. Every fiber of her being strained to activate Tactical Cloak, but hiding was impossible. She was forced to stare down her enemy rooted to the spot. No amount of medicine helped. Despite the pinpricks of exhaustion stabbing her eyes it took her hours to fall asleep. Even then it could hardly be counted as such. 

Several hours later Pandora woke to doctors bustling over her prone form. Her world was fuzzy around the edges, everything not directly in her line of sight a blur. The lights were far too bright, the thumping in her chest far too painful. All she remembered was the thresher maw. Then nothing but blackness. Pure blackness coating every molecule making up Pandora Shepard. No sensations, no visions, no nothing. Just the never-ending dark. Wait a minute. Did…did she flat line? Was that why doctors ran around the room shouting? Did she die? Well, shit. That was news. She widened her eyes slowly, calmly, not caring about the electricity assaulting her heart. Artificial light penetrated the receding darkness, hastening its retreat. No one noticed. Too focused on trying to revive her. They didn’t see their hard work pay off. More jolts spread through her chest. Dora almost felt that now. Sharp pwangs of power echoing through her life force. Okay. Now it hurt. Pwangs to shocks to burns. 

At long last someone noticed they won. Pandora was alive. The sleek paddles disappeared into a sleeker box. A couple nurses left to deal with another Code Blue. Some doctors wheeled the equipment behind them. The rest checked her systems, proved to themselves they saved another life. The asari was the most invasive. She didn’t leave an inch of Pandora’s skin untouched. Once she was certain nothing was wrong she backed off, settling for replacing the fluids in her IV bag. Already an eventful day for the young woman, she slipped extra meds into the bag and left her to recover. 

o8o 

It took months for Dora to leave Huerta. Well, not months. More like a few weeks. But it felt like months. Trapped in bed, nothing to do, it was enough to drive anyone crazy. She couldn’t even take solace in her own mind. Every waking moment was spent trapped in memory, the constant replay of her day on Akuze. Psychologists did little. Antidepressants helped no more than usual. David called as often as he could, but given he was halfway through the final level of the N7 program, never had the opportunity to visit. His calls were only allowed over the special circumstance of his adopted daughter nearly dying. Vid messages only did so much. Garrus was the one to pick her up from the hospital, home for a few days on holiday. They spent the car ride home in silence. To replace the nothingness Garrus flipped on the radio. Several songs played with no issue. Then a news segment came on saying the lone survivor of the attack on Akuze, now dubbed the Sole Survivor, had been released from Huerta Memorial. Speculations flew over her mental health, the event itself, and how suspicious it was that the lone survivor was the person with the least public history. The radio went off before Pandora fully processed the words, but the damage was done. Now she knew the world was after her. 

Soon enough they pulled up to her apartment complex. Ever since the old salarian died a few months prior the landlord neglected to hire a new security guard. Sixteen floors was a long way to travel to rob an apartment, but the building felt safer with a jolly attendant on hand. Garrus tapped in the familiar lock code and held the door for his friend. She entered wordlessly and stood by the piano, lost. It had obviously been untouched for a long time: dust coated the surfaces, the kitchen was barren, and the fireplace lay dormant. Consequently the room was freezing. Garrus flicked on the fake fire and retrieved a blanket from a nearby closet. He plopped Dora in the seat closest to the blaze, attempted to wrap her in the blanket the way his mother used to, and left to prepare some real food. Even in the twenty-second century hospital food still tasted like carpet. To his surprise some dextro ingredients remained buried in the freezer. The discovery pleased him. After all this time Dora and David thought he might show up any day. As he cooked he tried to make conversation with his friend, small talk that in no way might remind her of her memories. It worked, for the most part. She even talked back a few times. Over spaghetti and fish they watched a highlight reel of the latest biotiball match, commenting occasionally on the players and unjust calls. Sports never were Garrus’ thing. But Pandora liked them and that was good enough for him. 

The next several days brought little improvements for Dora. She talked more to Garrus and her father. She denied every face-to-face interview, only sending typed replies to political reporters David insisted upon. Each was succinct to the point of aloofness. When Garrus was forced to return to Palavan he made sure his father Tiberius stopped by to deliver the mail and groceries, check on the state of the house, and convince Dora to get out of bed. Sometimes she emailed friends. Sometimes she managed a homemade meal and gave phone interviews. She interacted with Tiberius in a way reminding them of her youth. Some days she did nothing more than curl up in a ball under the covers. But as time went on those days became few and far between. Tiberius eventually limited his visits to one or two days a week. When David graduated to N7, she stood tall and proud in the front row. The nightmares and hallucinations never stopped, yet Dora managed to continue her career as a soldier. 

David had a brief break between assignments where he privately became a Spectre. To cover the news the Alliance arranged a medal ceremony to commend Dora’s service on Akuze. The day of the event she continuously ignored the alarm clock. On the eighth ring she finally gave up and threw it across the room. Healing both physical and mental wounds took ages. A ceremony would only rip off the tender scar keeping her sane. The thump reminded her of the event, of the only reason why she set her alarm in the first place. David probably left already. Nobody came to question the noise. Several scenarios raced through her head, all excuses to keep her off the stage. No matter which one she picked David would be disappointed. So she slumped into the shower and her dress uniform. Within the hour Dora was seated behind a heavy curtain, an admiral explaining her cues, staring at the electronic speech like it was a grenade. At any moment it might explode, causing any number of reactions detrimental to the Alliance’s image. She was nothing more than a time bomb. 

At long last the curtain rose, a marine admiral took the podium, and an embellished speech resonated with the media. “I won’t keep you in suspense any longer, folks. Here to receive this Medal of Honor is newly promoted Lieutenant Pandora Adelaide Shepard.” 

Somehow Dora managed to drag herself to the podium and stared at the audience. So many reporters, so many flashing omni tools and news drones. So many eyes boring into hers. So many things to go wrong. She wanted to sink into the floor, never to be seen again. Her mouth opened and closed several times before anything came out. “Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. Thank you all for coming. I’m here today to, um…” Dora looked to her datapad, knowing after the pleasantries she had something else to say. The speech was too mechanical, too stiff. Those were the last words she would use to describe her team. “All the members of my team were family. More than brothers-and-sisters in arms. Just brothers and sisters. They accepted me as a damaged abomination and made me human again. The mission reflected that. They made me human and humans make mistakes. Stupid mistakes ending in their deaths. You should be honoring them, not me. I did nothing. Just survived on pure luck. That being said, I accept this award in their honor. I know they’d take it with a smile and a much better speech than this. So, uh…” 

By this point her composure was gone. If she had anything else to say there was no way it was coming out now. Her reaction was instantaneous. Between facing trauma and fleeing, her body chose the latter. "I'm sorry," she whispered, the words amplified anyway. Confusion turned to her. "I'm sorry. I can't do this. They deserved this, not me. I should be dead. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry..." Before the words turned to blubbers she bolted. Cameras still rolling, they tracked her frantic run offstage. Reporters stared, shocked. Only one man reacted. Only one man had any chance of getting through to her. 

David gave chase. The girl was quick, that much was obvious, as she had already cleared the floor. Stairs were faster for a young, nimble girl, one trained in stealth. Her job was to disappear in plain sight. By God if she wasn't good at it. Doors were left unajar, everything perfect, Dora so far ahead he couldn't even hear footsteps in the quiet building. His only advantage was knowing her better than she knew herself. Trying to think like her, David traced a path through the rest of the building and out a back exit. There he was rewarded with a shivering, terrified Pandora. Hunched under a small alcove of the opposite building, she kept her face pressed to her knees. Her dress blues were uncharacteristically wrinkled. There were no tears, but instead something much worse: a panic attack. The worst had already passed, but her comedowns were messy. God, he should have listened to the instincts saying a press conference was a bad idea. He should have known. 

Since there was no recognition of his appearance David approached slowly, making sure she had time to process each movement. Then he crouched down, placed a hand between her shoulder blades, and deliberately exhaled loudly. Gradually their breaths synced. Once they did David took a seat, getting as comfortable as possible on the hard ground. Dora peeked up. Her eyes were rimmed red, blown wide with adrenaline, slowly coming back to reality. Now morphing from a deer in headlights to a more manageable panic, he attempted speech. "Dora? You with me?" 

"Where...what..." Her voice was so small, so vulnerable, it broke David's heart anew. 

"We're on the Citadel," he explained gently. "Outside the hall. You panicked during your speech and ran. It's okay now. We're alone. You're safe. It's okay." 

Piece by piece the puzzle fit together. The speech. The cameras. The painful reminders of what used to be. The running away like a child instead of dealing with it like an adult. Nineteen years old and she couldn't act like a goddamn adult. Pitiful. Half-formed apologies poured from her mouth in barely decipherable English. Some in the common galactic tongue even slipped through. She was rambling in an attempt to make her father understand why she was nothing but a disappointment to the Shepard and Anderson names alike. She didn't deserve any of this. If the fates had any sense they would've left her to die on Mindoir. Not the slave ship. Not training. Not Akuze. Back where it all began. 

David knew nothing of what was running through his daughter's mind. All he knew was that she was in pain, remnants of the greatest of her life, and she needed him. As he sat beside her in the dirty alleyway, holding her as close as he dared, the artificial sun set. Gradually they were left in darkness. At one point she rested her head on his shoulder, sniffling every so often. The tears and apologies ran dry. Nobody else came looking, finding a juicy story for the tabloids in the heart of a traumatized child. They were fine with that. They were fine with staying hidden for the rest of eternity.


End file.
